Blogger, realist, clarifier, if there is such a term. Truth teller, who's not afraid to admit I'm wrong. Hellacious, renegade violist and "computer whisperer"; was once accused of practicing the Dark Arts with systems.
I'm tougher than most and survived things that would have killed most women. I still love life. I was homeless, now I'm not. Still in the 'hood, though. Nebraska Avenue, 33605. The stories are priceless and endless.

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Tuesday, August 13, 2013

#ROW80 4TH QUARTER, SUNDAY CHECK-IN ON MONDAY (SHEESH)

I've
been editing my previous material from “Homeless Chronicles in
Tampa,” not entirely to my satisfaction. But, I am also writing
some other essays on Composers and their times and how their music
affected me, in between all the sleeping I've been doing. As Andi-Roo
and I once tee-hee'd over “the elevensies,” in the Hobbit, I told
her that I also did “twelvies, onesies, right on until sleepsies.”
And there is a powerful lot of it from the medicine I am taking,
although, my tremors are so mild and a bout with them is so short, it
no longer taxes me. Doc Burke explained that this would pass and it
seems to be working. Besides, all this napping takes a lot out of ya.

Cats will sleep up to 20 hours a day. I bet there are days I beat them.

Anyway,
I got all caught up in “Breaking Bad,” first, because it is an excellent show, and the fact that it was conceived by Vince Gilligan. He did wondrous things on “X-Files,” and the awesome acting, the complexities, are almost a Shakespearean Tragedy, if not a Greek one, that overarch the show. It is at times, damned hilarious, but I couldn't figure out
why the underbelly drug culture has so fascinated me. Until it hit me; the research for this show is astounding, and as this
clip will show you, the Tweakers are some kinda wack. Yo, bitch. They are here arguing about some
dumbass game, it sounds like Call of Duty, the Zombie pack and are
very passionate about it. The pitch, the gestures, the lingo, is
perfect. Pitch-perfect. And I know this how? From my days spent in the homeless
shelter. Something of that sort was going on all the time.

It's almost as brainless as the "What if Spartacus had a Piper Cub?" question on the old Satusday Night Live

At
the homeless shelter, along with the 24-hour beer, bong and knife party, in the men's house, I also observed many people stabbing at inanimate
objects; cars, trash cans, doors, especially if they couldn't steal them. It's as if they never read their
“Why Little Johnny Can't Stab” book when they were in 'banger
school. The other thing about that clip? They are arguing things that
can never be proven, and they beat those points to death until
something else comes along. When I was homeless, everyone was an
“expert” in something. When I finally got my old computer and set
it up, a roommate asked why I wasn't on the internet. I explained
that I had no ethernet card. She says, “Well, I'm an expert,
because I know how to get rid of that Trojan thingy in Outlook. All
you have to do is download it.” I asked, in my asshat way, "Download what? The Trojan? Outlook? What." She says, "No, silly. The ethernet card thingy." Just then, I pretended to have a seizure (there were lots of seizures going on at the homeless shelter, some of them not real) or that I had to pee, or the roof was on fire. Whatever, I got the hell out of Dodge.

Ah yes, the old PEBCAK error. Stands for Problem Exists Between Chair and Keyboard. JC would say she's an astronaut, because of all the space between her eyes. I almost fell off the porch when he said that to her.

I
don't even know where to start. First off, anyone who uses Outlook
deserves all the mayhem, worms, and Trojans that horrible piece of
software is prone to. So, I was relating this whole story to a friend
of mine who'd been in prison for tax evasion. He says to me, “That's
great! Download an ethernet card, AND dinner. It'll save time.”
This is why I don't have to make shit up. Happy Tuesday!

Itinerant violist and computer trouble-shooter for more years than I care to admit. While no longer homeless, still crazy, but with Labels *sigh* a bus-riding Asperger, bipolar-ridden, PD or non-PD, carbon life-form, providing fodder for Medical community. Not even kidding. Still ridiculous.

Acquiring a much richer and fuller experience and finding deeper meaning in day to day life, than I ever learned in a classroom, concert hall, or computer center. I will never believe that things just occur randomly, just monumentally disordered.

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Eventually everything happens on Nebraska Avenue. The pimps have been here, both the real and the political. The athletes and the artists. It's a life, a state of mind and it's home, Nebraska Avenue, 33605, 33602 and 33604.

THE DELIBERATE GOALS OF VIOLA FURY

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I Haz Home Naow - in Kitty Heaven

My Rent-a-Kitty, has become a Perma-Kitty, Mama, although she passed away, nearly one year to the day that Jim died. She actually adopted Jim first, then me.